Perfect Blue
by girlintheyankeeshat
Summary: A nine-month-long journey to find the perfect blue. Set after Season 3.


Summary: A nine-month-long journey to find the perfect blue. Set after Season 3.

Rating: This is fairly harmless, but I'll give it a T just in case.

Disclaimer: _Lie to Me_ does not belong to me.

A/N: In between knitting together some of the other things I've been writing, I saw a little something that gave me the idea for this and ran with it. It's probably a bit unconventional, but seeing as I've had a heavy cold this week, I can blame it on the cough syrup! :D Any thoughts are greatly appreciated, thanks.

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The first time he watched that particular rivalry game with her, he'd almost wanted to say it was a bit ridiculous that there was Duke blue and Carolina blue. However, as soon as that rather dangerous thought had popped into his head, he'd remembered there was of course Oxford blue, Cambridge blue (although that had always looked like light green to him), and even British racing green. In the final moments, with the contest placed on a knife edge, the air was certainly blue with clipped curses and he had no bloody idea as to what exact shade of cerulean his arm was turning as she squeezed it under desperate fingertips. It had only been mere weeks since Claire had died and his veins were flooded with relief when the elastic heartbeat of plastic on hardwood sent a bolt of much-needed energy back into her soul.

Spring turned the sickly grey skies to an optimistic azure, with a hint of heat playing on the breeze. The fine tendrils of healing continued to pierce her grief and trauma, wrapping themselves around her in comforting waves. Oddly, he found this change manifesting itself on her mantelpiece in a bright row of vases. The hard black-and-white photos of the heavy past had been replaced with a neat spectrum of flowers. One night she found one of the cobalt blue containers piled with a messy mist of white lilies. Even though there were far too many flowers and the weight sent drops of water spilling onto the carpet, she still thanked him with a mercurial smile on Monday morning.

That May, West Ham were relegated. Dead last in the Premier League, the second tier of English football awaited the Hammers in August. In spite of being a relative stranger to sporting disappointment, she knew that tough losses could cling like the sultry summer evenings. So a string of them that left a team playing in a different division had to be particularly disheartening, and had presented itself as an extra layer of grumpiness the week after the season had ended. Setting aside all her professional tools, she recalled how she dealt with the same thing – with the power of the past. At the end of the month, he plucked a plain brown envelope tied with claret and light blue ribbons from his doormat. Inside was a DVD of his side's 1980 FA Cup Final victory, with a hand-written note: _Never forget the good times._

In early August, they travelled to San Francisco to help Emily get settled. The teenager had insisted it should be a team effort with a cheery smile, even if in private, the young woman remained baffled as to how the pair of them were still just friends. In between insistent clicks of a camera shutter, he found his girls – his world – framed between an ultramarine sea and indigo sky with the Golden Gate Bridge a vermillion streak in the background. When the two women asked a passer by to photograph the three of them, he was left with a picture with all the pixels in the right place and three hearts so-very- nearly entwined. It was all so near, yet seemed so far.

When his house was finally empty, the California Golden Bears hooded top was a lead weight in the dresser, a solid reminder that his daughter was on the other side of the country. On the first Saturday of the college football season, his best friend helped him break through the sadness by dressing an oversized teddy bear in the top and using it as a mascot. Apparently, the colours of the University of California were California Yellow and Yale Blue. Now, that, having another university's colour as your own? That definitely was ridiculous, and he told her as much, in between the blur of too many beers and what he saw as the chaos of downs and punts. Even in the midst of his confusion and the maelstrom of her laughter, they made a silent pact to do this whenever he felt the sharp pang of loss. Before long, he even knew what a safety was.

Following an intimate Thanksgiving, late November brought something loosely defined as a first date. The odd edge of her nervousness was broken by heavy sips from a fishbowl cocktail. He hadn't really wanted to share a luminous blue vat of tropical punch, even if he was meant to. Consequently, the evening ended on his sofa with her arms wound around the bloody golden bear in the blue hoodie in a semi-drunken slumber. It hadn't been perfect, but he smiled in spite of himself, watching her huddled up adorably to the other Cal, knowing that soon enough, the time would be right.

After years of finding forgiveness for him, and even though she knew it wasn't strictly necessary, offering up an apology wasn't without difficulty. Somehow she found one in bringing miniatures of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and a six-pack of Coke the very next day, not leaving any time for doubt to settle or linger. With the erratic pulse of a video inconsequential in the background, she tasted the smoke and caramel in his kiss with only the stark silhouettes of the city as a witness to their intimacy.

Just before Christmas, with his feet propped on her coffee table and the gentle glow of the lights of the tree in the background, he was flicking through one of her magazines, somewhat distracted by an article about stimulation and colour. Blue was the absolute best, apparently. Having seen the perfect blue of her irises merge with black while on the very edge of desire, he'd been inclined to agree.

But, then again, they both knew that their ultimate moment of pleasure, togetherness, connection and pure truth was absolutely nothing to do with colour.


End file.
